Page 31 of Body Language
Her voice quickened. My hand did too. The sound of her gasps had me losing it. And just like that—together, breathless, separate beds but the same rhythm—we came.
“…Damn,” I said, still trying to catch air. “You really just… did that through a phone.”
She laughed softly. “And you let me. Mr. Control, became undone by a voice.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re dangerous, Pretty.”
“You’re just now figuring that out?”
I cleared my throat and leaned back against the headboard like I wasn’t already ten toes in over a woman I just met.
“So… you gone let me take you out for breakfast?” I asked.
“Nigga… breakfast is in a few hours.”
“Perfect,” I said. “Just enough time for you to take a nap and get dressed. Hell, if you need a midday nap, we can take one together. I’m a gentleman. I’ll let you pick the side of the bed and everything.”
“Boy, please,” she laughed. “I’ll think about it.”
I smirked. “See, that ‘I’ll think about it’ already sounds like a soft yes. Just text me your address. I’ll scoop you around 9.”
“Mm-mm. You can send the location. I’ll Uber. You don’t need to know where I stay… just like my name, you gotta earn that too.”
I nodded like she could see me. “Damn. Fair enough.”
“Goodnight, Kendrix.”
“Goodnight, MissCommunication.”
The call ended, but my brain didn’t. I set the phone down on my chest and stared at the ceiling like a certified simp-ass nigga. Had me smiling and shit. Thinking about brunch spots and mimosas and if she’d like the playlist I’d make just for her ride.
9
Niveah
I couldn’t stop smiling to myself. The night before, I had Kendrix Givelle coming undone through a goddamn phone. No hands on him, no FaceTime, not even a skin pic. Just my voice.
That’s always been my gift. Making love to a man’s mind before I ever touch his body. Most of them don’t even realize they gave me the keys to the whole car until I’m halfway down the highway.
And the crazy part is that it had been years since I was even interested in a man for real. But he wasn’t surface-level. He wasn’t giving corny lines or fake deep. And once he explained that whole circus with Arlette, I was even more on gang to get a taste of his pockets.
And if I was being honest with myself?
I wanted to see what he was about.
Even though I swore I was gon’ behave and play hard to get, I already knew that was a lie. He was too damn fine, and the bottomless mimosas weren’t gonna help my case.
I showed up to the brunch spot looking like a soft-spoken problem. Brown sugar body wrapped in a black two-piece set with my navel piercing peeking out, hoop earrings, and a face that said expensive taste but emotionally unavailable.
Kendrix Givelle.
The man looked good enough to piss me off. White tee under a designer denim jacket, beard trimmed just right, gold chain resting like it was hand-placed by God himself. That same calm confidence like nothing could shake him, but I was determined to try.
“So, what you ordering?” he asked, sitting across from me with that little smirk that made my knees lock under the table.
“Chicken and waffles,” I said, sipping my mimosa. “Because I’m sweet, but savory.”
He chuckled. “Oh, you a food philosopher now?”
